The consequences of the Death of Irene Adler
by Ms.Kona
Summary: After Sherlock saved Adler from death, he turned to her for support after faking his own. What happens when circumstances make the two friends and unlikely lovers stop seeing each other and Adler once again faces death? rated T for language
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first Sherlock Fanfic so if I've done something you don't like, then I apologise. This fic is set after Richenbach Falls in the BBC Sherlock universe. Inspiration from a post on tumblr, cant remember who it was from now. **

**All bold Italic text is from a text message, none bold italic text is from a memory.**

**Hope you enjoy**

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**Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Sherlock universe either the ACD books or the BBC show. This is a fan made work of fiction made purely for entertainment purposes. **

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_**Let's have dinner – IA**_

Sherlock had a moment of fear. The number was unknown but only one person would send him a text like that. The woman had promised not to contact him unless there was urgent need. Until now, she had kept her word.

"John, I'm heading out," He called into the quiet house, though before John Watson could reply, Sherlock had left the building.

Sensing the man's fear, John picked up his phone.

_**Something's happening. Be on red alert. – JW**_

Two phones buzzed in reception of this message – one in Scotland Yard and the other in a parliament building. Both men sprung into action immediately.

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Sherlock ran through the streets of London, hailing down a cab as he did. He jumped in one and held an address out to the driver. "Take me here, as fast as you can. It is of utmost importance." The cabbie drove off at speed, Sherlock sitting in the back fearing what was happening. If the number she had texted him from had really been unknown then that could mean her real phone was out of her hands. If that were the case, she didn't have long left.

"He got in a cab on the end of Baker Street. That's all I know." John was telling Greg Lestrade what was happening, Mrs Hudson sat in the corner of the room, all ignoring the cups of tea she had brought in.

"What could have set him off John? I do worry about him..." Mrs Hudson seemed genuinely scared for her younger tenant.

"I don't know. He got a text, moments before he left. I don't know who it was from, but his face. His face was identical to the night when he came back from seeing...her for the last time." John knew Sherlock and Irene had been seeing each other after both of them had been presumed dead. He supposed it was a mutual need for someone who was going through the same thing – having to start all over again. When they had stopped seeing each other Sherlock had come home with a shadowed look over his face. It was like she'd done or said something he couldn't compute. It reminded John of the night when Sherlock had 'seen' the 'Hound of Baskerville' and he could no longer trust his own body. Nothing had ever been said about it. Nor was her name ever again mentioned in the house.

That had been around 4 years ago now.

John started to pace the floor. This was not looking good.

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Irene Adler picked up her son and ran up the stairs with him. He was only 3 years old now and very precious to her. Running into the master bedroom she closed the door behind her, leaning against it, holding her son close to her.

"Mother, what's wrong?" He looked up to her, looking at her with his eyes. They'd be here any moment. When they were, she'd be ready.

"Nothing baby, nothing at all." She stroked his hair soothingly. Thinking quickly, she sat him on the front of the bed, kneeling in front of him so they were eye to eye. "You remember when I told you if Mother ever told you to hide, you had to do it really well and hide till I came to find you?" the boy nodded, all be it hesitantly. "I need you to be a big boy now and hide until I come to get you. Can you do that for me?" His usual sarcastic comment about how he couldn't be bigger than he already was, was forgotten, the boy being more concerned about the fear in his mother's voice; A voice which had never wavered. He nodded again and didn't struggle when she lifted him into the large wooden wardrobe. She placed him in the corner and kissed his forehead; a silent goodbye. Before he could say or do anything else, Adler had withdrawn from the wardrobe and had shut the door, silent tears running down her face. She knew this was best for her son. Even He had a soft side. She knew He'd be a good father, with a bit of practise. Swallowing the guilt and fear that had built up inside her throat, she went to meet the men who would certainly leave death in their wake.

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Through the large wooden door of the wardrobe, nothing much could be heard. The boy could have sworn he had heard loud voices then gunshots. He didn't want to think about it so he just curled up in the corner of the wardrobe until it was safe to emerge.

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Sherlock threw himself out of the taxi, chucking his wallet through the open driver's window. "Keep the change," he shouted over his shoulder, running towards the one door that could possibly be hers. He burst through the door, drawing his gun and holding his poised, ready to fire. He heard voices coming from the floor above and a gunshot, followed closely by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor. He'd run out of time. He ran up the stairs, glad he trusted his own aim and shot a black clad leg through the banister rails. "POLICE, EVERYBODY DOWN!" he yelled, knowing they wouldn't call his bluff. He ran the remaining stairs, training his gun on the man left standing, the other man on the floor clutching his leg where Sherlock had shot him. His eyes darted to Her, lying on the floor. He felt his heart miss a beat. She wasn't moving.

**_John. Get here now. Bring Lestrade – SH_**

The following text held an address.

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"Greg! I know where he is!"

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He heard sirens coming down the street. "If anybody moves, you're dead." Sherlock's voice had an edge to it that plainly said 'don't fuck with me'. He moved to Adler's prone body and felt for a pulse. He couldn't find one. His own heart skipped another beat. This couldn't be happening. The only woman who he'd ever shown himself plainly to was now dead. He didn't have time to dwell on this though as thundering footsteps sounded the arrival of 'backup'. "Arrest these men," He told them calmly, turning his mind to the unfolding situation. The use of an unknown number meant she'd lost her means of protection, but he'd known that already. That's why the men were here. From his limited medical knowledge, he assumed she was dead, but even Sherlock would let the medical professionals decide that ultimately. But why had she brought him here? She knew she was going to die. There was no sign of a struggle and that worried him even more. He sifted through his memory banks. He'd long forgotten why he'd stopped seeing Miss Adler, only knowing it was 'better that way', or so John would say.

"Think, Sherlock, think! What was it she'd said to you?"

That was when he noticed the necklace. It was one he'd bought her as a present so he knew the pendent was actually a small disguised locket. It was supposed to hold some form of defence for her, just in case; a pill, potion or otherwise, designed to kill instantly. But she hadn't used it for that, he knew. He once saw her gazing into it and spotted two small pictures, one of her and one of himself. Her hand was wrapped around the pendent tightly. This was her last thought before she died. Unfurling the tight fist of delicate skin revealed the locket to him. He opened the clasp and found a surprising picture. It took him a moment to realise that in the half where his face used to reside, the picture had changed. But the face looked almost familiar. The hair had the same curly quality of his own and the eyes…

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_The Woman, His Woman, was sat across from him at the dining table. She set down her wine glass after emptying it. Sherlock sat back in his chair, watching her, analysing her like he always did. Only after spending time with this woman did she start to become more readable. He had started picking up the signs of when there was something wrong. He sat quietly, waiting for her to speak first._

_ "I'm pregnant Sherlock. With your son."_

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Sherlock stepped over her body and into the closest room that had the door closed. He would be hidden somewhere in here. Listening carefully he heard a quiet whimper coming from the large wooden wardrobe. He stepped towards it slowly, not wanting to scare who or whatever it was inside. He opened the wardrobe door slowly, putting his gun back in its holster as he did so. He heard a whimpering again but much louder this time. Whatever was hiding, Sherlock had found it.

"Whoever's in here, it's okay. You can come out now." He adopted the same tone of voice he'd heard John use when dealing with small children and distraught parents. There was a rustling from behind some coats and a small head appeared.

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_Sherlock had risen from the table without saying a word and was heading for the door. Irene had expected a bad reaction, though maybe not quite as bad as this. She followed him to the door and halted his exit with a light hand on his shoulder._

_"I'm going to name him Hamish after the ... other love in your life. You don't have to be involved, but he will always be your son"_

_After hearing her final words, Sherlock left the building, never turning back._

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He remembered her words now as his own eyes stared back at him. It was mildly frightening how much the boy looked like him. It was like looking into a mirror that showed you yourself as a toddler. "You're Hamish, aren't you?" His voice was still soft, calling out to the boy to come closer. The boy nodded and crawled towards the older man. Sherlock picked him up and placed him on his hip in a natural fatherly gesture. He didn't quite understand why he did this other than it feeling natural to do so. He supposed it was a natural automatic response to seeing your own child frightened. "You're coming to live with me now, your mother has… put you into my care." The boy nodded again, his sad eyes seeming to indicate he'd taken in Sherlock's hidden meaning. "When we go out of the room, I want you to look at me and keep looking at me okay?" Sherlock brushed a lock of hair out of his son's eyes, accepting now that he did have a child of his own. It had taken a long time to rationalise it to himself it seemed, but now he was there holding the young boy in his arms, it felt like he'd been doing it for years. Hamish blinked and nodded his understanding once again.

Sherlock rushed from the room and down the stairs, making sure Hamish was watching him the whole time. It must have been disturbing enough to have lost his mother without having to see her lying dead on the floor outside her own bedroom. Once outside, Sherlock spotted John stood next to Lestrade, both leaning against an unmarked police car. Seeing the small child, John rushed forward to take it from his flatmate and friend, knowing that the consulting detective didn't care for such 'creatures' as he called them. When Sherlock didn't hand him over, John was shocked.

"Sherlock, what's going on?"

"This is my son John. This is Hamish Holmes, Son of Irene Adler and I. She's dead John and he's all I have left of her. I'm all he has left…." John couldn't quite comprehend what had happened to the Sherlock Holmes he knew. That man would have left the boy wherever he had been found before today. He knew Adler had had an effect on the man, but apparently it was much more profound than the doctor had first thought.

"Are you sure about this Sherlock? I mean you don't know the first thing about child rearing. How are you going to take care of him? We don't exactly live the safest of lives..." He trailed off, knowing Sherlock could fill in the gaps.

"John this child has a spark. He has my blood in him, if we send him anywhere else he'll be starved of the attention he needs. He's my son John...He could be our son if you'd let him..."

Sherlock gave John the only truly pleading look he'd ever given. Hamish was leaning his head on Sherlock's shoulder like he belonged there, eyes half closed with exhaustion and glistening with knowing tears. The young boy was looking at John curiously but without an ounce of fear. This was defiantly a child with the blood of Sherlock Holmes.

Sighing John gave in.

"Okay," he said nodding slightly. "Let's go home."

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**A/N: so what did you think? Please R&R so I can improve my work.**

**Thanks for reading =)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N So this was going to be a one shot but a few people asked me to carry it on so I decided to try and write a few more chapters. They're going to be random snippets of their life together and probably wont have a running plot between the chapters. Just so you're all aware. **

**Here's chapter two =]**

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Sherlock was sat at his desk in the main living room of 221b. All the electric lights in the room were off, the only light coming from the two candles at either side of his desk. He preferred it this way; the candles weren't harsh on his eyes but left enough light to see his work by.

It was 10 in the evening. John walked wearily into the room and stood leaning against the doorframe watching his unlikely lover as the candle light flickered around his features. He strode over to the desk and placed a hand in Sherlock's long dark locks of hair. "You need to rest your eyes. You've been working on this case all day. Give it a rest." He placed a light kiss on the younger man's temple, letting his hand fall to his shoulder.

Sherlock nodded slightly and leaned back in his chair, blinking heavily, trying to clear his brain. Since the dynamic in the house had changed, he'd started to listen to John more, taking his advice on board more easily. They stayed like that in silence for a while, John looking over Sherlock as he rested his mind and turned it from case solving into relaxing; for a while at least.

Through the silence came the noise of a door opening and closing, followed by the sound of small feet pattering down the hall way and down the flight of stairs.

"I thought you put him to bed," Sherlock stated.

"I had…"

A five year old Hamish Holmes-Watson hurried into the room, blue eyes flashing and a bear clutched to his chest. Tears were brimming in his eyes and he was shivering from head to toe. Sherlock turned his chair and opened his arms to the young boy. It had taken time, but comforting words and sympathy were a daily occurrence for him now. Hamish ran into his father's arms, jumping into his lap and settling there. John knelt by his side as Sherlock's arms enveloped the young boy.

"Did you have bad dreams again son?" the doctor asked, stroking the young boy's hair gently.

Hamish nodded his head slowly. "I'm sorry Dad. I couldn't ignore them like you told me to."

John smiled sympathetically. "That's okay," he cooed soothingly. Sherlock placed a loving kiss on the crown of his sons head.

"You're not mad with me, are you Father?" the young boy looked up to the detective, a worried look in his eye.

"I could never be mad at you for bad dreams." Sherlock looked down at his child, smiling gently. The boy held such promise. He was intelligent for his age and was so well behaved the pair of them rarely had to even raise their voices. The best part was the change he'd made to Sherlock since he'd arrived in their lives. Sherlock was once a cold and unfeeling almost mechanical human being. Hamish had changed that, making him softer and more understanding of other's needs. The change had been somewhat gradual to begin with, but with help from both Hamish and John, Sherlock began to feel again. Now a doting father and a loving partner to John, Sherlock couldn't be doing better for himself.

"How about a nice glass of warm milk and a biscuit to help you sleep again 'ey?" John suggested, finally breaking the silence that had grown in the room. Hamish nodded and smiled a little, nuzzling his way even further into Sherlock's embrace. John nodded and stood, leaving the room to head for the kitchen.

Sherlock cuddled Hamish closer to his body. "What did you dream of son?" His voice was soft and soothing.

"Mother again…I miss her…" tears spilled over onto his cheeks.

"I do too…" Sherlock brushed the tears away with a gentle thumb.

They sat together in a comfortable, understanding silence, waiting for John to return. When he did finally come back into the room, John found the two, curled together under a blanket, both with their eyes half shut.

"I guess the milk won't be needed then," he said softly through a half smile. "Bed, for both of you."

They both nodded and slowly began to move. Hamish slunk to the floor and rubbed his eyes, holding a hand out in the air for his father to hold. Sherlock stood next to him and took the hand offered to him, holding it tight. "Come on then son," he said sleepily and began to walk to the stairs, Hamish following and John not far behind.

Half way up the stairs, a small voice was heard. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

John felt his heart skip a beat as it broke in too. "Sherlock…one night wouldn't do any harm…" Sherlock had turned around and John could see the pain in his eyes. Sherlock felt exactly the same.

Hamish had his eyes shut, expecting the answer to be no. He definitely didn't expect to be picked up by his father and carried to his shared bed with his dad. Sherlock placed Hamish into the middle of the bed and curled up next to him, fully clothed, and pulled the blankets around them both. John joined them on the other side of Hamish, placing a kiss on the small boys' forehead. "Goodnight, my little one."

"Goodnight Dad, goodnight Father." Hamish cuddled between his two fatherly figures and fell into a deep, restful sleep.


End file.
